


The Twist

by HerBrazenElegance



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Blow Jobs, M/M, Novices, naughty Malik, virgin Altair
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2013-01-01
Packaged: 2017-11-23 05:44:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/618745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HerBrazenElegance/pseuds/HerBrazenElegance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A young Altaïr sneaks out one night and finds himself getting into more mischief than he expects.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Twist

**Author's Note:**

> I had originally intended for this to be a quick pwp but for some reason my mind is wanting to take it further. Not really sure where it's going yet, whether it will become a series of little novice drabbles or an actual story, so stay tuned~  
> As always, feedback is welcome and very much appreciated, and a Happy New Year to my fellow shippers!

Altaïr rolled over in his blankets, awake suddenly despite the hour. With a heavy sigh, he sat up and rubbed his neck, still sore from practicing some new techniques with Malik a few hours earlier – or attempting to, anyway, before their competitive natures reared their ugly heads and turned practice into a mini war. Fortunately an instructor had stepped in and reprimanded them before too much blood had been shed.

Altaïr looked up at the bedroll across the room from his normally taken by his rival. Malik was gone. Odd, he thought. Novices weren’t normally allowed to wander at this hour, and it was especially strange for one as studious and obedient as Malik to go against this.

Altaïr smirked to himself. Perhaps he isn’t so obedient as he lets on.

He gazed out the window behind him. The moon wasn’t full yet, but in between quick-passing clouds it cast enough light on the land to make any late night travel fairly easy. He decided then that he’d get into a little mischief of his own.

Altaïr had to stifle a slight groan of pain as he stood, not wanting to wake Abbas and Kadar who still slept. His thigh was wrapped and properly tended to, but it still ached from being sliced nearly knee to hip due to a misstep while climbing a steep cliff face a few days before. He recalled Malik glaring down at him as he bled. “Perhaps it will teach you to be lighter on your feet,” the older boy said, and then he helped Altaïr hobble awkwardly back to the assassins’ castle. He always disliked the way Malik seemed to enjoy scolding him like a father would to a troublesome son. He probably couldn’t help it, what with having a little brother to keep an eye on all the time, but that didn’t make it any less irritating.

Silently, he padded to the hallway, careful not to strain his injury too much although it became easier to ignore as he walked. The castle was almost eerily bare save for the few higher-ranked assassins assigned to lazily patrol. He couldn’t blame them for being tired, but in his mind he still judged them for slacking off. Al-Mualim would have their hides if he found out they let two novices slip by and prowl about freely.

Continuing on, he soon found himself hiding in the shadows near the desk where Al-Mualim most often was. At the lower floor, the heavy iron doors to the outside were shut tight on both exits, but Altaïr knew the window near him opened up more somehow. A little surge of excitement went through him at the thought. He’d never been on the roof before.

With a single backward glance to make sure he wasn’t being watched, he crept over to the window and quickly did a search for some opening mechanism. To his surprise, a section of the metal and glass simply pushed open, and before long he was hanging on the outside of what he called home, high up above the rest of Masyaf. He scaled the walls effortlessly without a worry of what might happen if there was another careless misstep, although each time he was forced to use his injured leg there was a small throb of heat and pain. Even so, he felt light and lithe without the weight of his armor, and in no time at all he’d made it to his goal.

It was much windier at that level – not unbearably so, but he was sweating and definitely thankful for the breeze. He was about as high up as possible, having to circle around the large dome in order to peer over the edge that gave him the best view. Bracing himself on a corner minaret, he gazed down and reveled in the exhilarating feeling it gave him. The practice ring, surrounded by the fortified walls, lay below, and beyond was the small town of Masyaf along with the water that cut through the land on three sides.

“What are you doing up here, Altaïr?”

The voice startled him so much that he nearly jumped out of his flesh and stumbled forward. He would have met his end there had the stranger not gripped one of his flailing arms and yanked him back to safety. Altaïr landed awkwardly against the dome with a grunt and stared into the other’s face.

“I could ask you the same, Malik.” He tried to be menacing, but his voice was laced with shock and a twinge of fear from his near-death experience.

Malik grinned. “Always so ready to fight. I just saved your life, brother. You should be more grateful.”

“I wouldn’t have slipped if you hadn’t surprised me,” Altaïr spat.

“Oh? And what surprised you during your earlier mistake?” He gave Altaïr’s injury a rough tap with his boot, making him wince.

“Enough,” he whined.

“It happens,” Malik relented. “There is no shame in mistakes. It is how we learn.” Then he planted himself next to Altaïr. “You could stand to take pain less like a woman, though,” he added, and Altaïr swatted him in the gut. Malik just laughed.

“So will you tell me why you are up here?” Altaïr asked.

“I believe I asked you first.”

They eyed each other for a moment, Altaïr finally noticing that his rival was in full novice regalia, weapons and all, and that for once they weren’t bickering. Not much, anyway.

“I’m not sure,” he answered, looking away from Malik. “Impulse, I guess. I keep my boots far from the ground if I can help it.”

A thick cloud passed over the moon then and hid them in darkness. Malik took a long while to respond.

“I guess impulse is my reason as well.”

“Seems fairly planned to me,” Altaïr said. Malik gave him a questioning look and he clarified. “The armor…?”

“Ah.” Malik grinned again. “I don’t like to be without it. Feels like it could be a second skin. Also,” he added, flicking his hood up over his head, “I thought it would work to make me a little more anonymous. Al-Mualim would not be happy to hear of this.”

Altaïr frowned. “I am a bit unwise for not thinking of that myself,” he admitted.

“You are fairly unwise,” Malik agreed. Altair ignored that.

The dark cloud moved by and they were once again bathed in moonlight. The breeze started to pick up and sent a gust strong enough to knock them over had they been standing and loud enough to deafen whatever Malik had tried to just say.

“You’re bleeding,” he repeated.

“What? Fuck.” Altaïr turned his leg for a better view, as if it were even necessary. The bandages were almost completely soaked through, bleeding through the fabric of his pants. “Fuck!”

“They’re going to wonder what you did to rip your stitches out.” Malik sighed and stood. “Come. We’ll go to the infirmary.”

“You’re going to sneak in?”

“Well, do you want Al-Mualim to find out and punish you for your stupidity?”

“No.” Altaïr ignored the insult and smirked. “I just didn’t realize you were so fond of breaking rules.”

“Hardly breaking them,” he replied, helping his rival to his feet. “What better example could I lead than to help one who is so helpless?”

Altaïr swatted him in the stomach again, and they made a quick descent to take care of him.  
_______________________________

The younger assassin hobbled over to one of the raised infirmary beds and rested. His stitches, as well as his clothes, had to have been ruined and now it was beginning to burn with hurt, and was that dizziness due to their rush or his blood loss? He immediately wanted to unwrap the soiled bandages as he sat down but was unexpectedly overcome with shyness.

Malik stared at him with impatience.

“What is the matter with you?”

“I… My pants…”

Malik rolled his eyes.

“For Allah’s sake, Altaïr! We’re both men. Get them off already!”

Altaïr pouted.

“Turn around.”

“What?”

“Turn around!”

“I can’t believe what a child you are,” Malik grumbled, but he obeyed and turned his back to him with his arms crossed and staring into the shadows.

A few seconds that seemed much longer than normal passed by, and Malik was free to face his fellow assassin again. Altaïr was completely naked from the waist down but had covered his most embarrassing parts with the end of his loose linen shirt.

Malik blushed and avoided looking at anything he wasn’t supposed to see. Altaïr noticed.

“Lucky that we should have this to ourselves,” Malik commented quietly. “The brotherhood must be doing something right not to have any foolish novices moaning in these beds. Other than you, of course.”

Altaïr hmphed, a slight blush on his face as well.

“Here.” He threw the soiled wraps in a bundle toward Malik, who moved and let them hit the ground with a wet slap.  


“Always cleaning up after you, aren’t I?” Malik said in good humor, although Altair didn’t find it very funny. He disposed of the bloody rags and lit a small white candle on a nearby table. After rummaging around he returned to Altaïr with clean bandages, cloth, water in a dish, and stitching tools.  


“Thank you,” Altaïr muttered. He thought he would die of shame before blood loss.  


“You’re not going to do it yourself, are you?”  


Altaïr stared at him.  


“I know how to wield a needle as well as a blade, brother.”  


“I do not doubt your knowledge in the matter,” Malik responded. “I simply wonder if you are capable.”  


Altaïr didn’t know what that meant, but then he didn’t care to think on it much. Malik’s wisdom could be cryptic at times.  


Reaching for the cloth and water, he gently washed the blood from around his wound. A nasty purple bruise had formed around the edges of the gash and made it painful to even look at. At least it stopped bleeding so much. He then set to removing the ruined stitches, which, despite being horribly slow work, turned out to be surprisingly less painful than he was expecting. Malik sat silently on the other end of the bed and watched as Altaïr grabbed the threaded needle and heated the tip of it over the candle flame. His rival’s scrutiny as he did this was a bit unsettling given his nudity, but Altaïr summoned his most stoic face as he inserted the point.  


“Fuck!” He nearly shouted. He’d hardly gotten the needle in before it was unbearable.  


A slow smile crept up Malik’s face.  


“Do you find it funny to see me in pain?” Altaïr asked acidly.  


“Of course not,” Malik said, abandoning his humor for a moment. “Would you like me to help? These things are sometimes easier when you are not–“  


“No,” Altaïr barked. Again, he heated the needle over the flame and tried to begin stitching. Again, he swore and gave up.  


Malik kept quiet. It was difficult for him to wipe away his smug grin. Altaïr glared and thrust the needle at him.  


“Here.”  


“Are you sure?”  


“Just do it!”  


Malik grinned freely now, even more so after he produced a container of soothing salve that he deliberately kept quiet about and opened it up. Altaïr was not pleased.  


“Bastard,” he growled.  


Malik was enjoying this too much to be hurt.  


“Altaïr, you would do well to stop pretending you know all that there is to know. May I?” The tip of his middle finger was coated with the salve and he gestured to the wound.  


“Hurry up,” he growled again, and then added quickly, “gently!” He turned his face away.  


Malik sighed and set to work. Being as careful as possible, he avoided touching the open areas of the wound and lined the vicious dark purple edges of it. Now that he had a much closer view of the injury he was a little surprised that Altaïr could walk, let alone scale an enormous castle, with such a deep gash. If Malik’s touch was hurting him, though, he made no obvious sign of it.  


It was odd to be this close for the both of them without being in a more violent setting. Normally they were flinging blades and punches and curses at each other, fighting like demons and constantly trying to one-up the other. They’d never had to patch any serious wounds or be gentle by any means. This gesture was as intimate as they’d ever been, and once again Malik blushed inexplicably.  


“Something bothering you?” Altaïr asked, suddenly feeling self-conscious.  


“Nothing,” Malik answered a little too quickly. “Ready?”  


“Yes,” he lied. He was still angry for his mistake in hurting himself in the first place and, although he would never admit it out loud, apprehensive for the further pain he knew was coming.  


Malik took the needle up and put it through the flame for the third time. He rested his left hand higher up than the slice on Altaïr’s thigh, seeming to think nothing of it as he leaned in to take care of the wound despite the way Altair blushed furiously. Malik’s hand was warm and calloused and way too close to a certain part of his anatomy, and yet it was a welcome comfort as the needle pushed into his bruised skin and made him hiss.  


“Relax,” the older assassin warned.  


“Would you like me to run a hot needle through your flesh and show you how it feels? Fuck,” Altaïr growled. Then he sucked in sharply and bit his fist as Malik drew it through him again a little more roughly.  


“No need,” he answered shortly. He ran it through again.  


“Fuck, Malik!”  


“You really do deal with pain like a woman,” Malik quipped with a grin. “Though I have never heard such foul words from a lady.” And with a swell of confidence – or stupidity, seeing as Altaïr looked fit to throw him into the ground by now – he slid his left hand further up his thigh and squeezed, earning him a little gasp from his rival.  


“Most women do not have to put up with men like you,” Altaïr growled, trying and failing to mask his awkwardness.  


“Men like me?” Malik laughed. He pulled the needle through his flesh yet again, which effectively caused Altaïr to cry out again and closed the wound, and took his creeping hand away from the boy’s body to cut and tie the thread off. He reached for the salve again.  


“Yes, men like you,” Altaïr grumbled as Malik smeared more of it over his new stitch. “Always teasing and making jokes at my expense. It is more than annoying.”  


Malik laughed again. “Annoying, am I? Well, you didn’t seem very bothered by this.” At that, his hand returned to its inappropriate place at Altaïr’s leg, sliding up further under his loose shirt. His fingers were slick with the salve and left a little trail up the younger man’s hip.  


For once in his life, Altaïr didn’t know how to react. This was new, the way Malik touched him and sent heat all through his body. He’d experienced certain…feelings of desire before, as many of the other boys his age did – the courtesans in the garden were obviously there for a reason – but this was something else entirely. A man with another man was forbidden.  


Malik looked him in the eye and leaned closer, hand sliding up further still and revealing an already semi-hard Altaïr. He glanced down and wore his smile again.  


“Am I annoying you, Altaïr?”  


He flushed from head to toe, injury and reservations forgotten. Malik was inches from his face and whispering in such an attractive way. This wasn’t wrong, the way he felt, was it? He shook his head.  


“No.”  


Then Malik kissed him, hard and hungry and totally overwhelming. Altaïr actually fell backward a bit from the force and had to catch himself on the bed with one arm, used his free hand to hold the other boy by the throat gently, defensive instinct immediately coming into play even as they kissed.  


Malik ran one hand up Altaïr’s chest and held his hip tightly with the other, drawing little circles with his thumb over the junction between his hip and thigh. He snaked his tongue into the other boy’s mouth, smiling to himself when Altaïr made a little confused noise about it before doing the same. They continued until Malik finally pulled away, both of them breathless and staring at each other.  


“Have you been waiting long for that?” Altaïr asked.  


“Yes. And other things,” he breathed.  


“What other things?”  


Malik unleashed that smile again and pecked him on the lips. “That’s right. You haven’t been with anyone yet, have you?”  


Altaïr huffed. “It is not as if I don’t know about sex. But no… I have not.”  


Malik moved away from him, letting them both sit upright again on the edge of the bed.  


“I want to try something, if you will let me. And I think you will.” Forward as ever and without waiting for permission, he slid onto his knees off of the bed and faced Altaïr, a burning look in his dark eyes.  


Altaïr smirked. He knew what was coming and laughed inwardly at this image of Malik submitting to him in a way, even if it meant ending up as the one moaning like a whore. He spread his legs a little and Malik settled between them, careful of his hand placement on Altaïr’s thighs.  


“Have we not broken enough rules tonight?” Altaïr asked.  


Malik smiled in a seductive way and it affected Altaïr appropriately. He really was attractive with a look like that, especially when he began to give the younger boy slow, firm strokes.  


“They are not broken unless you are caught.”  


“Have you done this before?” Altaïr suddenly felt inquisitive.  


“Of course.”  


“With who?”  


“That isn’t any of your business, brother,” he said sternly.  


Brother, hm? Altair thought, then he asked, “Does Kadar know?” He wasn’t sure if he was doing this because he wanted to be an ass or because he actually cared. In any case, Malik just stared at him, though he never slowed his movements.  


“No. And I would appreciate if others did not find this out. Especially Kadar.”  


And with that he took Altaïr between his lips, effectively shutting both of them up. Altaïr groaned, free hand went immediately to Malik’s head and grasped his short black hair as he bobbed up and down smoothly. Malik hummed around his length and looked the younger assassin in the eyes, and very soon Altaïr was panting and blushing and struggling to bite down any embarrassing noises he wanted to make.  


“A-ahh, Malik,” he breathed, and the man on his knees moaned and took him further. He wondered just how long Malik had been holding this back, if all the fighting had just been a way of hiding what he really wanted. There was no way this could have just come out of nowhere. The thought made his mind fuzzy.  


Malik gave him a particularly hard suck that forced out a swear from him. This was so much better than what Altaïr could do by himself, and he wanted all he could get. Leaning forward more, he grasped Malik’s dark hair with both hands and coaxed him further until nearly all of his length disappeared into the older boy’s mouth. He stared down at Malik and noted his brow furrowed as he concentrated on taking it in without gagging, surprised with his skill. Then all too soon he came, forcing Malik to go deep and swallow. He held still and gasped, fingers winding tighter into Malik’s hair until it was over.  


Altaïr released him and Malik sat back on his knees, mussed and panting and pink in his cheeks. He hesitated a moment and glanced at Altaïr’s stitch, blinking a couple of times before speaking as if nothing had ever occurred between them.  


“You still need bandages.”

Altaïr didn’t even pay attention as Malik tended to him. He lay back on the bed with an arm thrown over his face and was officially feeling tired again. It wasn’t until Malik flung Altaïr’s wrecked breeches into his face that he sat up again.

“Have I robbed you of speech?” he teased.

“Only for a moment,” Altaïr replied. He stood and pulled his coverings back on, pleased to realize his injured leg may as well have been numb.

“That was…new. And I liked it,” he added, not without a bit of shyness. “I do not fully understand why you did it, though.”

Malik smiled sadly and turned toward the exit.

“Surely I could not have any feelings for you, Altair.”

Altaïr blanched and eyed the back of his head curiously.

“Do you?”

Malik seemed to think about that for a minute before shook his head, less as a response to his question and more like he simply wanted to shake that thought off, though.

“Do not get used to it,” he answered simply. “We have been gone too long.”

He opened the door to the halls, silently slipping into the shadows and leaving him to dwell on that. What the hell?


End file.
